


The Winter Platoon

by NHarmonic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Criminal Minds, Hannibal (TV), Leverage, Sherlock (TV), White Collar
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hydra, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, There was more than one, Winter Soliders, they have nothing but each other, those bitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHarmonic/pseuds/NHarmonic
Summary: Summary: Bucky can’t be the only man they experimented on that survived.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I’ve read a story with this theme before, laying that out now, this is not my attempt to copy it. This is my interpretation, with different characters from various ‘verses being the Soldiers. I won't be following those verses except to give a small past story; IF I continue.

_“One?” a young man, Spencer Reid he was once called, asked tentatively._

_One, the first Winter Soldier, the one who couldn’t remember anything, tilted his head to show he was listening. The muzzle was firmly in place and he couldn't speak, but he could listen, and try to reply._

_“How long have you been like this?” Spencer, Winter Four, continued._

_“We never did ask that,” John Watson, Winter Two, noted, adjusting his collar._

_One watched the movement, silently staring at the collar. Unlike himself, who had been trained for years to obey, One’s team were loose cannons without the collars. A new invention, they controlled the man without erasing key memories, like they had for One, with the wipe.They had to watch Seven’s head explode because of said collar to see that they were trapped. There was no escape. They were dogs, and they weren’t meant to escape._

_“O-One?” Spencer asked again, constant fear making him physically tremble._

_Finally, One held his hand out, signing to their youngest in code._

_“Seventy,” Neal Caffrey, Winter Five, said incredulously, and One nodded. “Seventy years?”_

_This caused Neal and Spencer to become somber, looking away._

_“So long,” Spencer whispered. “Will we-.” he couldn’t finish._

_“Does it matter?” Eliot Spencer, Winter Three, replied quietly. “Do any of us actually have anything left?”_

_“I do,” Spencer swore. “People are looking for me; I know it.”_

_“I don’t,” Neal confessed. “You’re lucky Spence.”_

_For a moment, none of them looked at each other, all lost in the memories of the loved ones now lost. One watched this, silently wondering what it was like to have someone who cared. One wondered, was there someone to care about him?_

_One was snapped from his thoughts when his muzzle electronically unclipped, falling from his jaw. This caused the others to snap to attention, simultaneously reaching for a briefcase, which opened to reveal earwigs, which they all put into their ears, and a computer screen._

_A voice spoke from the earwigs, their leader. “Forget everything,” it said in a thick accent, “Hear only my voice-.”_

_In his own voice, calm and sure, One heard his words. Distantly, as his mind grew foggy, he knew the others were hearing their words too. He knew soon, they wouldn’t be a team anymore, they’d be something else. They’d be-_

“-ucky?”

Bucky blinked.

“Bucky? Wake up man,” that voice was familiar.

“Sam?” Bucky asked, silently focusing on the brown shape in front of him.

“Yea man, it's me, and Steve,” Sam said, smiling at him.

“I’m here Bucky,” Steve assured.

Bucky looked around the room. He was still in the living room, the TV was still on. That’s right. They’d been watching G.I.Joe. Something must have triggered him.

“I’m sorry Buck, I should have noticed sooner,” Steve said, gently squeezing his wrist.

“It’s okay,” Bucky swallowed, looking to the window.

He was still in New York. Not in the backroads of Russia, or Syria, or wherever he had been. He was Bucky now, and not One.

Sam pursed his lips. “Where were you?” he asked, hoping his friend would let it out.

Bucky shuttered and closed his eyes.

_“What was your name? Before?” Spencer asked innocently. They hadn’t broken him yet. They would though; there was no doubt._

_One glanced at him. “There is no before,” he replied gruffly. “There is nothing.”_

Bucky opened his eyes. “Nothing."


	2. How it Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: JadaRyl commented and gave me an idea for what I can do for this chapter. We all know how Bucky became One, well, JR asked, how did the rest of the crew come to be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To keep with the story, the guys will be referred to as their number, so make sure you remember who’s who. For this story, I’ll go in order  
> Bucky Barnes: One  
> John Watson: Two  
> Eliot Spencer: Three  
> Spencer Reid: Four  
> Neal Caffrey: Five  
> Hannibal Lecter: Six

**~Two~**

_ “Sherlock!” _

John shot up, his gun discharging before his eyes focus. John panted, gun raised, his memories rushing through his head. Sherlock. The skyscraper. The drop.

John dropped the gun into his lap, pressing his palms into his eyes sockets, trying to drive the memories away.

“Damnit Sherlock,” John whispered. “Why- why- why- why!?”

John shot the wall again, again and again until the clip was empty.

There was a pounding at the door. “Watson! You have twenty minutes to leave before I call the bobbies!” his apartment manager shouted.

John glared at the wall, his grip tightening on the gun.

These were some of the last moments of John Watson. Leaving his apartment with only a duffel bag and an empty gun, CCTV cameras lost track of John Watson between a van and an alley. Mycroft and the government searched for weeks. Sherlock, alive and guilty, searched for months. 

John Watson was never seen again.

**~Three~**

“Another one bites the dust,” Hardison laughed, holding his fist out. “Hit me, baby!”

Eliot chuckled in amusement, throwing his arm around Parker as he bumped Hardison’s fist. “Age of the geek, brother,” he grinned.

“Let’s go get some pizza,” Parker said in her strange, thoughtful tone. “With pickles.”

“Pi-pickles,” Eliot repeated incredulously. “Parker, you do not eat pizza with-.”

It happened in an instant, and at the same time. One minute there was three, the next it was one. Eliot was frozen as Hardison and Parker fell forward and back, each, a single bloody hole in the center of their heads. An unmarked van drove in front of Eliot as he mechanically turned towards the sharpshooter who just took out his family, his friends, and his lovers. All he saw was a silver sheen.

“Did you think you could escape us?”

Eliot slowly turned back to the van, the door was open, revealing a symbol he knew all too well. 

“Hello, Eliot.”

Words were said but Eliot was too lost to really follow the conversation he was having with the other. All he could see at the moment was the blood of his precious people on the concrete beneath him. The blood of all he had left.

“Get in Spencer.”

He didn’t hesitate. Who was left to make him?

**~Four~**

_ “We’ll find you, Spencer! Just hold on!” _

Those words played out in his head over and over again as he sat there, naked and bound, among other men and women who were in the same place as he. Spencer Reid was trying to block out the inevitable. It’s been three weeks, from what he can discern, and no one has found him. Three weeks and Spencer Reid was being sold, as a slave.

“He’s a cute one,” the auctioneer taunted, forcing Spencer’s head up. “A virgin, ripe for taking.”

“We’ll be taking him.”

Spencer’s eyes landed on a small team of men, four of them total. Their leader was the least dressed, merely wearing kevlar, while the three men behind him were dressed to the teeth in armor and weapons. Normally by now, Spencer would be deducing these men, trying to figure out who they were, but Spencer was too far gone.

“This is a bidding war,” the auctioneer said, “You want him, you bid.”

“Actually, I think we’ll take him,” the leader swore, and guns blazed.

Spencer was too smart to think they were there to rescue him; they clearly wanted something from him, he just didn’t know what. Probably his connection to the FBI, maybe for his brain. Whatever it was, Spencer was far from free.

_ “Why… why haven’t you come?” _ Spencer’s mind whispered.

“Let’s go,” the third man muttered, cutting the zip tie holding his hands together.

“...Okay…”

**~Five~**

In hindsight, faking one’s death is truly a bitter, dual-edged blade. Normally, a dead man’s fear would be being recognized, and forced to return to the life he had left behind. He never thinks about what would happen if he was in danger, and no one would be there to know he needed help.

This was the situation Neal Caffrey fell into. 

Deciding to spend his ‘retirement’ in Europe, it was inevitable that Neal, aka Peter Moz Bethany, would once again find his way into the art business.

It was while working in Germany, tracking down some art stolen by the Nazi’s, that Neal came across what he thought was the impossible.

Nazis. Real, legit, fascist Nazis. And they wanted him.

“Neal Caffrey,” the accented voice had said.

Neal looked up from the tome he was studying, his cavalier smile in place. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong person,” Neal said calmly, using every trick in the book. “My name is Peter, Peter M. Bethany.”

“And I’m Hitler,” the man replied, a smirk on his face. “You’re needed, Neal Caffrey.”

“Oh?” Neal chuckled. “And what have you planned?”

“You’re fighting the good fight,” the german said.

“I highly doubt that,” Neal denied, distancing himself slightly.

Neal jumped as suddenly there were two men behind him. “You have little choice,” the man replied.

“Well,” Neal hid his fear well, “Let’s party gentlemen.”

He never stopped regretting that fact he didn’t fight harder.

**~Six~**

Hannibal Lecter was the only willing candidate. 

He had nothing, and couldn’t be bothered to try and live. Not without Will. Not without his soul. With the defeat of the dragon, Will and Hannibal had become one. Diving off the cliff, they had meant to be reborn. Hannibal had survived the rebirth. Will had not.

And so, with nothing to save him. Hannibal had gone to Lithuanian, alone, and he had sought out the men he knew all too well. Hannibal attacked and chewed through ten men, and was shot three times before they finally realized the asset Hannibal would be.

Using his skill as a killer and psychiatrist, it was Hannibal who created their words. It was Hannibal who created the concept of the collar and wore it willingly. 

It wasn’t loyalty that made him the leader of the Winter Platoon. It was his placidness. His uncaringness for his life. Hannibal merely jumped when they said jump and killed whom they said kill. 

And that was his life. The life of Hannibal Lecter then became the life of Winter Six.

That was how all of their lives ended. How they all were taken and became the Winter soldiers. After this, well- history to pass on later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> First: 31 kudos for one chapter?! Thanks so much guys!
> 
> Second: I think I may write a story in Buck’s POV and his opinion on the boys joining the gang. Two through Six, as I did here. It you’ve been following, then you know I drag my ass when it comes to posting, so please be patient. I’m going through finals too, so that doesn’t help any either. 
> 
> Anyways, 
> 
> Ja ne~

**Author's Note:**

> End.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I don’t know if I’ll continue this. I want to, but my muse is really shitty these days. I want to see an ending. I mean, if I was a third-party reader, I’d want an update. Unfortunately, I can’t promise there will be one. Sorry about that.


End file.
